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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28250106">Reclaim Your Throne</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Emolina/pseuds/S_Emolina'>S_Emolina</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Asuras Bride (Webcomic), Midnight Poppy Land (Webcomic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ancestors, Fluff and Angst, Modern Era, Royal bloodline, Supernatural Elements</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:47:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,328</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28250106</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Emolina/pseuds/S_Emolina</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Centuries have passed since King Ulaan ruled Narin. So much had changed, but not all of it is for the better. Watching the downfall of his family's reign was torture, but the chance for real change, real retribution, finally seems possible. But is it fair to ask so much from someone so young? What Ulaan wants from Tora, and what he want for Tora might be two unreconcilable beasts.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Reclaim Your Throne</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I’ve been thinking about that google search Poppy had up on her phone in Chapter 51- about the history of Narin’s monarchs and the Balthumans. And then “King” by Lauren Aquilina came on my playlist and this interaction popped right into my head. I don’t enjoy tin-foiling, but I prefer to think of my fics as a way for me to analyze what we know from Lily’s stories in a creative way. This fic, though, turned more tin-foily than any I’ve written before. I’m very excited to see just how much of AB is alluded to in MPL, and while I’m sure Ulaan and Tora would butt heads like the two testosterone riddled monsters they are, I like to think the Northern Demon King would be proud of just how strong and kind his descendant turned out to be. I hope you enjoy it! </p>
<p>Some lyrics were utilized from King by Lauren Aquilina and The City Holds my Heart by Ghostly Kisses. </p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is said that the spirits of your ancestors never leave you. That, though unseen, they can be felt. And they are always watching.</p>
<p>Ulaan had experienced the looming presence of the otherworldly all his life, but he had never thought about their perspective. Never felt sympathy for them. Why should he? They were dead. Beyond the reach of the pain of this world and the sorrow that loomed behind every forced smile.</p>
<p>At least, he had thought that was how it was. He knew better now. He pressed an insubstantial, transparent hand to his chest and looked down from where he hovered, taking in the towering buildings that boxed in the dark alley below. Centuries had passed. The world was so different. And yet, not different enough. </p>
<p>Cruelty was still a constant. Today, his heart was heavy with the combination of dread and hostility that was usually only quelled with action. But his time to act had long since passed. The spirits of the dead were made up of memories and heart, and that was all he was now. He could only watch and wait.</p>
<p>The waiting was always difficult. But not being able to act? That was hell itself. </p>
<p>Below him, a young man crouched down on the balls of his feet, his head in his hands, his chest heaving with unshed emotion. Ulaan’s fist closed. His desire to punch something, kill something, was so strong he could almost feel his blade again. </p>
<p>Drifting downward, Ulaan approached the boy. Although “boy” wasn’t a fair description. With thick, black hair falling to his shoulders and muscles forged in a daily, grueling routine, he appeared to be well into his twenties. The resemblance between the two men was striking. It was only the amber color of his eyes and unfamiliar tattoos that helped differentiate the two men. Ulaan had watched countless of his line come and go, but none had shared as close a countenance to Ulaan as this one. Tora.</p>
<p>Ulaan drew nearer, taking in the blood that flecked Tora’s face and painted his knuckles. Equally dark stains seeped into the brick behind him, where, moments ago, he had watched his grandson -- many times over -- vent whatever demons plagued him today. A phone lay at the boy’s feet. Ulaan crouched down and reached out to poke the offensive device, but his fingers made no contact, and he closed his fist again. He let it drop to his side. </p>
<p><em>“What is it this time, you little punk?”</em> Ulaan asked settling in closer to Tora and leaning back against the wall. His tone was light. An attempt to soothe his own emotion. </p>
<p>Next to him, Tora grabbed fistfulls of his hair, took a deep breath and answered Ulaan’s unheard question. “Nothing is ever enough, is it?” </p>
<p>There was so much anger and confusion behind those words. Ulaan felt an impossible tightness in his own chest. It was hard enough having watched the downfall of his line unfold. But knowing all the facts, really <em>knowing </em>the whys and the history behind the ill treatment of this boy, made him seethe. He wished he could explain it. Or for Tora to just <em>understand. </em></p>
<p><em>“You don’t even know what this is about, do you?”</em> The older man ground out with misplaced frustration. “<em>Did you ever, even once, stop to think this might be bigger than just you?” </em>He looked at Tora, REALLY looked, but saw only a confused, scared child. “<em>No, I suppose not,” </em>Ulaan sighed.<em> “Too wrapped up in your own feelings of self doubt.” </em>He pinched the bridge of his nose, and tried to settle his displeasure. He couldn’t tell if he was mad at the boy’s nearsightedness, the men who had warped him to be this way, or at himself. How had all the happiness Ulaan had achieved during his lifetime turned to such bitterness? </p>
<p>His eyes drifted to the gun at Tora’s hip. He hated the weapon. Guns were cold, impersonal ways to fight. He much preferred his sword. The feeling of control, the steps of a battle like one of a dance. Being up close and connecting with the life he was about to take. But seeing one of his own blood so lost gave him the desire to take up the weapon anyway. To hunt down all who had brought ruin to his family and administer the justice he so deeply craved. </p>
<p>He had thought Tora would be the one to do this for him. There was something in the boy that the others had lacked. A drive. A sense of self. A need to prove himself. Ulaan had watched the young child grow into the man before him now, enduring countless trials that no human should have been able to withstand. And yet he was still here. Still alive. Still sane. </p>
<p>He glanced over at Tora. <em>Do not falter. Do not stumble. Do not weep, </em>Ulaan intoned the words of his father. <em>Kindness will be your downfall.</em> He scrubbed his hand over his eyes, gritting his teeth. The boy <em>was</em> kind. Every action of his was steeped in remorse, concern for others, and a desire for love. Always the scared boy, chasing affection, even from the family who ruined them. The Balthumans. But try as he might, Ulaan could not fault him for these traits. They were what made him someone <em>worthy</em>. </p>
<p>Tora’s time under Vincent’s thumb was coming to a close. It had to be. Ulaan had seen the little changes. Small acts of defiance. The boy had always pushed against his restraints. No amount of beating broke him. But at some point his mindless acts of rebellion morphed into something more cunning. No longer crying for attention, he worked in the shadows. Followed orders, but in his own way — a more effective way. And it almost always meant a better ending for his targets. It gave Ulaan reason for hope.</p>
<p>The phone skittered across the asphalt, buzzing from an incoming call. Tora snatched the phone and silenced it, only for a text to follow right after. The screen lit up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Quincey: Bro where are you? My old man is flying off the handle. Something about you not following orders again. If you need to lay low tonight head to Gyu’s. Dad’s insisting you come to the mansion but I think it’s better if you give it time. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The screen went dark before another text popped up. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Vincent: GET YOUR FUCKING ASS TO MY HOUSE. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Vincent: How hard is it to follow simple FUCKING INSTRUCTIONS?? You had ONE JOB!</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Vincent: Stop trying to be so damn clever all the fucking time and just follow orders. How goddamn difficult is that?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tora sneered at the screen and tossed the phone back to the ground — face down — so the continued string of incoming texts could be ignored. The verbal beating for his disobedience was traded for more internal self-flagellation as his fists tightened. The skin under his bloody knuckles turned white from the force. </p>
<p>“Please.” The sound was so small a human would have missed it. “I don’t want this. Not any of it. I’m done.” Tora’s nails moved to dig into the tattoo covering the side of his neck. In response, Ulaan’s fingertips caressed the ink across his own throat, his anger turning white hot. He wore his symbol like a badge of honor. A declaration for all to see. A symbol only a king would wear. Tora’s, in comparison, was a collar. The mark of a man who didn’t belong to himself. Ulaan’s stomach turned instantly sour.</p>
<p><em>“Have you forgotten what is yours?”</em> Ulaan’s voice worked against the anger and emotion choking his throat. “<em>Have you no idea of your birthright? Your duty? To yourself and to those you’re bound to protect?”</em> Ulaan rose and slammed his fist over the same bloodied stain on the wall, but made no impact.</p>
<p><em>“He drags you further and further down, and yet you keep going back,” </em>Ulaan grated out. “<em>I can’t just sit and watch anymore. But I can’t help you with this. I need you to wake up.”</em></p>
<p>He clenched his eyes shut. Pushing his fist more firmly against the wall, he wished for the bite of pain that would have followed such an action if he’d been alive. </p>
<p>
  <em>“You could reclaim our crown.”</em>
</p>
<p>A small, diaphanous hand rested on his arm, pulling it back from the wall to cup it in her tiny palms. “<em>Ulaan.” </em></p>
<p>Her voice was like a beacon, and Ulaan turned to look down into the dark, shining eyes of his wife. Her eyebrows pulled together. While she was always the one to calm him in his moments of grief, Ulaan was sure he didn’t want to hear the words she was going to speak.</p>
<p>She said them anyway. “<em>What if that’s not what he wants?</em>” She turned to watch over the boy at their feet. “<em>He may not desire the life that comes with his royal birthright.”</em></p>
<p>Ulaan’s eyes narrowed<em>. “You know it’s not that simple. It wasn’t for me and it surely wasn't for you. You never ran from your duties as princess. You never let the suffering of your people go unremedied.”</em></p>
<p>The strike of Tora’s thumb against the spark wheel of his lighter interrupted them. Yuwa glanced at the boy, his head bent over his fingers to ignite his cigarette. Her face softened. The tiny flame threw soft waves of light over his features. Gods, he looked so young here. So like Ulaan. Maybe that was why, when Yuwa turned back towards him, her face was fierce. </p>
<p><em>“We fought enough,” she said</em>. “<em>It should have ended with us.</em>”</p>
<p>
  <em>“But it didn’t. And it won’t until the Balthuman rule is ended.”</em>
</p>
<p>“Y<em>ou can’t be king again.</em>” Yuwa’s words were matter-of-fact, but her hand squeezed his arm in a comforting gesture, softening some of the sting. </p>
<p>
  <em>“That’s not what this is about. I had my time. And I have no regrets for our life.” </em>
</p>
<p>Yuwa raised a skeptical brow<em>. “I can remember a few times when you were not so content.” </em>Her voice echoed with hints of anger as she continued. “<em>Now you are rid of the monsters in your head. The boy is not so lucky. His monsters are not only trapped within his mind, but walk among him too. They own him.”</em></p>
<p><em>“My monsters brought me to you.</em>” Ulaan’s curse had cost him many things, but it had also given him the strength to protect his men. They had been brothers, in name if not in blood. And then he’d found Yuwa. Not a day passed that he didn’t thank the gods, or the demons, that had brought them together. </p>
<p><em>“Tora is alone,” </em>Ulaan said. For the millionth time, he wondered what would have become of him if not for the influence of the feisty fourth princess of the Shan kingdom. </p>
<p><em>“He’s not alone,” </em>Yuwa corrected. “<em>Not nearly as much as he thinks. And there is still time for him to see that.”</em></p>
<p>“What more do you want from me?” Tora’s strangled words cut through their discussion, reminding them of their unknowing witness. There was a finality in his voice, and Yuwa bent down next to wrap her arms around him. Her tiny, delicate form somehow managed to appear protective. “I’ve tried everything,” he whispered. Unaccountably, he leaned into her embrace. </p>
<p>She continued to hold him, and while his words were meant for his current demons, she turned hard eyes on Ulaan instead.</p>
<p><em>What do I want from him? </em>Ulaan wanted vengeance. Justice. But the real question should have been what did he want <em>for </em>him. Peace. Happiness. And someone to share it with. The same things he’d found in Yuwa. He held her fierce gaze but his heart softened. </p>
<p>Yuwa turned her eyes back to the boy. He had placed the cigarette on the ground and picked up his phone again. Joining his wife, Ulaan read the latest text over his shoulder.</p>
<p>
  <em>Vincent: “I’m sorry son. I was angry, I didn’t mean all that. Come home so we can talk properly.”</em>
</p>
<p>Home...</p>
<p>The word was offensive. Home should be a place of comfort and safety, not a prison of unkept promises or unreachable expectations. <em>Tora will never be what this man wants</em>, Ulaan thought with pride. What Tora needed was a real home. A real purpose. Maybe even Ulaan had put too many expectations on him.</p>
<p><em>“This is not your place.”</em> Ulaans voice was hard. Resigned. </p>
<p>To his surprise, Yuwa shook her head.<em> “He’s where he needs to be. The city holds his heart. He just hasn’t found it yet. At least, not the next piece of it.” </em></p>
<p>Ulaan watched as Yuwa turned to the street at the end of the alley. Her eyes locked on a girl, following her progress.</p>
<p>His wife smiled. “<em>What is that new saying? There is method in the madness?</em>” Ulaan’s gaze followed the girl too, darting through the crowd of hurried people. The tiny brunette was wheeling a hand truck piled high with moving boxes. Little red patches colored her cheeks from the exertion. </p>
<p>Just as she slipped out of view behind the buildings, Tora looked to where the girl had been. Ruffling his own hair, he took a big breath, held it, and exhaled. The cigarette lay forgotten, still burning on the ground as he pushed himself up. He exited the alley and turned, walking in the opposite direction of the girl. </p>
<p>Ulaan looked to Yuwa with questioning eyes. She knew something, but he could never make his wife share anything until she was ready to do so. Which meant more waiting and watching. </p>
<p><em>“What will happen now?”</em> Ulaan wondered aloud. </p>
<p>Yuwa shrugged but looped her arms more securely around her husband's waist. “<em>I don’t know,” </em>she admitted.<em> “But I’d say we are due for something good. A change. A positive one.”</em> She squeezed him tighter and tipped her face up to look at him. “<em>For all of us.” </em></p>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This fanfic is based off of Midnight Poppy Land and Asura’s Bride by Lilydusk (available on Webtoons). The characters and imagery utilized in this work of fiction property of Lilydusk, and any resemblance that the original story bears to this fan creation is coincidental and unintentional.  </p>
<p>Many of my other fics are based off of Lilydusk's Secret garden posts and are therefore patreon only, but they can be found in the community section if you are a member! Please think about joining the wonderful community. Her $5 Secret Garden Tier (as well as her $1 SFW tier) is well worth the money! You can join here: </p>
<p>https://www.patreon.com/lilydusk/posts</p></blockquote></div></div>
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